


Cold Mornings Alone

by Batsutousai



Series: Holiday Card Ficlets 2017 [3]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Loneliness, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-19 01:18:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13693887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batsutousai/pseuds/Batsutousai
Summary: Roy ruminates over the one person he misses the most.





	Cold Mornings Alone

**Author's Note:**

> Every winter season, I send out cards to anyone willing to give me their address, and I decided two winters ago to start adding fic to the cards. This year, I settled on the very loose prompt of getting stuck in a cabin because of a snowstorm. Which some fics held to better than others, whoops. XD

There were mornings – cold, dark, lonely mornings – when Roy's old wounds hurt too much and the snow had piled so high outside his shack that it was going to be a struggle to get out, that it really didn't seem like it was worth it to get out of bed. 

He always did, though. He might move slower those mornings, and he might take longer stirring the fire back up and shoving the snow piles far enough out of the way that he could squeeze out the door and shovel a space for him to open the door the rest of the way, but he always got up. Which, yes, was at least a little bit because General Armstrong, in Briggs, was terrifying, and only someone who was truly insane would want a visit from her. 

But also because there were people who depended on him. People like Alphonse, who had clearly recognised the same empty spaces where Ed had once been in Roy, and had latched on to him, as though either of them could ever truly be the one they were both missing. People like Elicia and Gracia, who he couldn't bear to face in person, but had ensured would have more than enough money to continue living in the sort of comfort they should have had, if Maes hadn't died. People like Riza and his former team of subordinates, who seemed to believe that, if they waited long enough, he would return to Central and take over the military, like he'd once sworn to do. 

And, of course, there was a constant sense that, maybe, this would be the day that Ed would reappear. Would come stomping through knee-high – on him – snow, complaining about train seats and station food and the price of ham at some little no-name town that was clear on the other side of the east area from where he was supposed to be. And if Roy was still in bed when Ed visited him, he'd give him so much grief. Or he might just throw up his hands and leave; Edward Elric had never been known for his patience. 

Though, it _had_ been almost five years. How much had that genius little alchemist changed in the intervening time? Was he still shorter than everyone else? Did he still rage if someone mentioned his height? Did destruction still follow him everywhere he went? How many times had he broken his automail, and how angry with him was Miss Rockbell? Was he still effortlessly kind, while also being constantly the most foul-mouthed, angry person Roy knew? Did he still wear that gaudy red coat, which was visible for _miles_? 

Was he still carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders? Or had his restoration of Alphonse finally cleared his debt? Would Roy finally get a chance to see what honest, untainted happiness looked like on his face? 

So, yes, Roy dragged himself out of bed every morning. He drank the same tasteless tea and ate the same cold rations. He built up the fire by hand, fighting past the urge to just lie down and die every time he struggled with a match or the wood refused to catch. He shoved his door open enough to squeeze out and cleared everything away. Filled a bucket with snow and left it by the fire so he had water later. 

He did his long, freezing shift out in the cold, staring out into the endless whiteness while holding a rifle that was loaded, but he would never fire. Mostly because his ability to judge distance was extremely hindered by his missing eye, but also because, well, there was enough blood staining his hands. 

When his stomach started to growl, he shuffled inside and had cold rations and the same tasteless tea from breakfast. Then he went back outside to stare into the empty expanses of white again. 

It was nearing sunset when he saw a speck of brown in the sea of white. He honestly thought he was going crazy for a moment – there wasn't really anything in the direction they were coming from, save mountains – except the person stumbled and fell close enough that Roy could definitely tell it was a person bundled up for warmth, and they didn't get back up again, the brown of their coat just visible from Roy's little hut. 

He debated for a couple seconds. But, in the end, there was no question that he needed to check on the person, if only to determine if they were part of an invasion force. 

As he got closer, he saw that the coat and hat weren't quite Amestrisan-make, but they didn't match any of the Drachman styles he was familiar with, either, so he didn't jab the person with his gun to check if they were still alive. Rather, he crouched down next to them and shook their well-padded shoulder. "Hey," he called in a voice gone rusty with disuse. "Are you alive?" 

The person made a noise into the snow that sounded suspiciously like a negative. 

Roy felt his mouth twisting like it was maybe trying to remember how to smile, but it didn't quite manage to make it. 

He was just starting to wonder how best to move the person, since they seemed uninterested in moving on their own, when the figure shifted, head turning enough that Roy could just see a pair of pale lips, the hints of a blond moustache, and a brilliantly red nose. "What country is this?" the person asked, so much hope in the words. 

"Amestris." 

The figure shoved themselves up in a rush, letting out a shout of joy, and Roy felt his eye widen as he recognised the person's face. " _Fullmetal_?" 

The kid – _man_ , gods, he had _facial hair_ , though both beard and moustache looked ragged and untamed; Roy had heard enough horror stories about Ed's poor hygiene when he was travelling or distracted with research, that he doubted either would exist if Ed cared about his appearance – turned wide gold eyes on Roy and breathed, "Mustang? You– You're really...you. The _real_ you. Right?" 

"Yes?" Roy hazarded, uncertain exactly what Ed meant with that. 

His answer must have been sufficient, for then Ed whispered, "Al?" a complicated mess of fear and hope and grief in his voice. 

"Alive and in a human body," Roy offered without hesitation, because this he knew the answer to, and had honestly expected it. "He's travelling the south, last I heard. Looking for you." 

Ed's smile was wide and beautiful and everything Roy ever could have hoped for when he'd wished he'd one day see Ed smile without the weight of the world on his shoulders. And he was so, _so_ glad that he was the one to tell Ed that whatever he'd done in the ruins under Central, whatever he'd sacrificed, had been worth it. (Mostly; he'd have to tell Ed about Alphonse's missing memories, eventually. But, for the moment, he deserved to be happy about his success.) 

"I have a fire, if you want to warm up before you run after him," Roy said, because he knew Ed would want to see Alphonse as soon as possible. "And a washbasin and razor to tame that animal on your face, lest you terrify him," he couldn't resist adding. (Though, it would probably be quite the treat to watch people's reaction to it.) 

Ed blinked, then let out a choked noise that sounded slightly started. "You haven't changed a bit," he said. 

And then, before Roy could come up with a response to that – perhaps even pointing out the eyepatch, which he usually hated bringing attention to – Ed crawled forward on his knees and wrapped Roy into a hug that was tight enough, Roy could feel it through the layers of his cold weather uniform. 

He couldn't have stopped himself from returning the hug, even if it had meant his life to do so. And this Ed – older and still loud, but also settled in a way that Roy hadn't known him to be as a child – didn't seem inclined to return even so much as a pat to the shoulder with violence. 

"Welcome home, Ed," Roy whispered into the unfamiliar weave of Ed's knit cap. 

Ed sniffed, and his voice sounded a little choked when he said, "I'm finally home." 

Roy gave him a minute to compose himself, then pulled back and got up. "Come on. Let's warm you up." 

"Hah, yeah. And maybe some food?" 

Roy's laughter was a surprise, and it sounded as rusty as his voice did, but it was a welcome change from the lonely silence of the snowy north. 

For the first time in almost five years, Roy felt the urge to fight his way to the Führer's seat once again, and he suspected that, while Ed might be leaving the north alone, Roy wouldn't be far behind him.

.


End file.
